Chapter Text
Hitoshi knows he must’ve fallen asleep at some point because he wakes up in the middle of the night. Blurry-eyed, he slinks over to the kitchen. Within seconds of starting a pot of instant noodles, Aizawa appears, slouching in his hero costume. Hitoshi wonders if he went out on patrol, or just didn’t bother to change. Or both.
“Is your migraine over?” he asks, leaning against the counter.
“Yes,” Hitoshi lies, even though he has a little bit of headache left. It’s not worth the effort to explain, he tells himself. Aizawa just stares at him, and Hitoshi feels red creep up his cheeks. “Hey, where’s Yamada?”
“Working.”
“On patrol or the radio?”
Aizawa shrugs.
“Wow, so helpful,” Hitoshi grumbles, and reaches around the man to get to the tantalizingly shiny coffee maker. Aizawa sets a hand on his forehead and pushes him away.
“No coffee for you, pipsqueak,” he says.
“And today was already bad enough,” Hitoshi groans, but he doesn’t try again. He can make another stab once the night fades into the morning—Hitoshi will lose, as he does every morning, but it’s the principle of the thing.
“I heard about that.” Aizawa folds his arms and smirks. “A declaration of war, was it?”
“Did Yamada tell you?” He’s such a gossip.
“Actually, Nedzu did.” A demonic smile briefly overtakes Aizawa’s face. “I liked it.”
Hitoshi pauses. He’d expected judgment, hostility—above all, he had meant to provoke. He’d never really anticipated a positive response to what he had said. Well, Hitoshi supposes that’s a kind of provocation too… Something to think about.
It’s only a few hours ‘til the morning. Aizawa sits with Hitoshi in some kind of twisted solidarity, although he does nod off a couple times. Once the sun comes up, Hitoshi tries to mimic what normal people do in the morning, brushing his teeth and putting on his uniform. Aizawa just lies face-down until an alarm on his phone goes off, at which point he informs Hitoshi they have to leave right now or they’ll miss the train.
They end up having to run several blocks—Hitoshi’s used to this kind of exertion after weeks of Aizawa’s training, but he’d really not like to risk being late on the second day of school.
Halfway through the ride, Aizawa’s phone starts buzzing. He ignores it for about thirty seconds until it shuts off. Then the buzzing starts up again.
“Aren’t you gonna answer that?” Hitoshi asks.
Aizawa lets out a long sigh. Acknowledging it probably undermined his plausible deniability of not noticing the call. He picks up, and says, “What is it?”
“Where are you?” Yamada demands, loud enough for Hitoshi to hear even though the phone isn’t on speaker. Aizawa angles the screen away from his face.
“The child was slow,” says Aizawa. Hitoshi shoots him a dirty look.
“Was the child slow, or did you forget not everyone can do your Spider-Man moves?” Yamada continues before Aizawa can answer. “You know what, we don’t have time for this. Get over here ASAP!”
“Alright, alright.” Then he frowns at his phone.
“What is it?” asks Hitoshi, curious despite himself.
“He hung up on me. It must really be serious,” Aizawa muses, mouth set in a concerned line. “Do you think you can make it the rest of the way by yourself? Mic might need some… impulse control.”
“I’ve done it a million times before,” says Hitoshi, ignoring the twist in his stomach. He’s gotten soft, under Aizawa and Yamada’s smothering. He’s not a five-year-old who’s never taken the train on his own.
They slide to a stop, and Aizawa books it. Hitoshi puts in his crappy little earbuds and tries to ignore the steady stream of UA students that trickle in. When he sees the parade of gray uniforms all exit, he figures that’s his stop, and surreptitiously follows after.
Once he’s off the platform, Hitoshi slows down to a snail’s pace, so he can detach from the UA herd. Anti-small talk measures. He gets a granola bar from the vending machine, since he missed breakfast in the rush to get to the train on time.
He speeds back up once he’s out of the station. There’s a low rumble that gets louder and louder as he approaches the school. Hitoshi turns a corner, and sees a crowd of reporters hooting and hollering at the school gates. Closer, poorly hidden behind a bus stop, a gaggle of UA students bicker.
“We can just go in,” suggests a boy with impressive silver eyelashes.
“You think they’ll let us?” asks a purple-haired girl, her elongated earlobes twitching.
“We’re just first-years, why would reporters care about us?”
“Maybe they’ll target us because we’re easier to crack than the upperclassmen!”
“There’s no way out but through,” a calm voice cuts through the noise. The girl who said it, a hero student with an orange ponytail, continues, “We have the power of numbers.”
“Yeah, I’m not scared of a few reporters!” declares a very pink girl. “I say we rush ‘em.”
There’s yells of agreement. Hitoshi looks around, and realizes with horror that he’s surrounded by hero students. The herd stampedes forward—the pink girl catches his elbow as he tries to escape.
“Careful!” she says, in an annoyingly chipper voice. Hitoshi can’t even fault her for it, because the next moment he trips, and would’ve fallen if it weren’t for her steady grip.
He ducks his head as they pass through the gates, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. He doesn’t want the whole nation to know that he lowered himself to the indignity of traveling in a pack.
Not quite inconspicuous enough, however. Yamada, who’s stationed at the entrance for some reason, lets out a holler of, “Shinsou!”
Hitoshi ducks his head down even more, but not before he catches a glimpse of the entire crowd of reporters taking a few steps back. What did Yamada do to them?
He can’t ask right now without drawing attention to himself. Hitoshi hurries over to his classroom before any of the hero students can try to make conversation with him.
At the very least, his migraine-sleep makes him more functional than the day before. He takes actual notes, and even has a civil conversation with one of his classmates. Yamada would be proud.
Hitoshi is sneakily doing his art homework when an alarm starts blaring. Everyone starts moving, and, slightly confused, Hitoshi stands up too—but doesn’t get with the flow. Somebody elbows him, and then a bag slams into his knee.
“Ouch,” Hitoshi mutters, limping along with the crowd. The direction gets confusing as they bottleneck through the door, the stream of people pushing through. Trying to be strategic, Hitoshi edges around the mob, only to hit the doorway—with the same knee.
As some kid with glasses rockets up to yell at people to calm down, Hitoshi leans against the wall and tries to breathe. The crowd disperses a little, but his kneecap feels like a gong vibrating in his flesh.
“Shinsou—what’s wrong?” Midoriya skids up to him, right in Hitoshi’s face.
“I’m fine. Don’t—”
But Midoriya doesn’t listen to him, throwing Hitoshi’s arm around his shoulder and practically dragging him across the hall. “I’ll bring you to Recovery Girl, don’t worry!”
Hitoshi tries to protest, or detach himself, but it’s impossible to fight against the absolute machine that is Midoriya, arms like iron even as he spews cheerful platitudes.
Recovery Girl sighs the moment they come into her office. “Midoriya, already?”
He laughs, face red, and says, “Ah! No! I’m just escorting Shinsou, um, here. I’m not hurt. I swear. Uh. Please don’t call my mom again.”
Recovery Girl tuts, but points to a bed. Embarrassingly, Midoriya practically carries Hitoshi there, setting him down with a conciliatory pat to the shoulder.
“Really, I’m fine,” Hitoshi insists.
The old heroine’s cane smacks the tile, and Hitoshi meets flint-like eyes. “Young man, do you see how many students are in my infirmary? I don’t have the time to waste on this nonsense.”
Sometime along his many, many years of antagonizing authority figures, Hitoshi’s developed a sense for the danger level of any given adult. Being the way he is, he usually ignores it. However, when he makes eye contact with the little old lady standing across from him, all the alarm bells in Hitoshi’s head start ringing.
He can’t piss her off—fuck, he’s already pissed her off. And he’s pretty sure he can’t walk on his own right now, so he needs to make up for what a burden he’s being.
“Now tell me what’s going on,” says Recovery Girl.
“I can do CPR,” Hitoshi blurts out of desperation.
She blinks. “Excuse me?”
“If you need it. I have a CPR certification.” Technically he can only do it with supervision, but Recovery Girl totally counts as supervision.
“I’m not letting a fifteen-year-old do CPR in my infirmary,” she replies, brows furrowed. “Besides, nobody’s in a bad enough condition to need it—most of you kids just need an ice-pack and some sympathy,” she adds in a gentler tone.
“I can do that,” says Hitoshi, getting up.
Recovery Girl’s wiry arm shoots out, clamping onto his shoulder and pushing down without mercy. Even after Aizawa’s strength training, Hitoshi’s forced back onto the cot.
She hands him an ice-pack wrapped in a towel, and orders, not unkindly, “Put this on your injury.”
Hitoshi puts it on his bruised kneecap. To his chagrin, it does come as a relief.
“Thanks.”
“It’s my job,” she says briskly, and makes to walk away.
“Hey, what about my sympathy?” Hitoshi calls out, feeling a little braver.
Recovery Girl tosses a pack of gummies to him. She adds, “If you’re a very good boy, you can even get a lollipop.”
With that, the hero goes to fuss over a limping business course student. Despite her age, her hands don’t shake in guiding the boy over to a cot and examining the damage. Recovery Girl calls over another student, coaching them in how to check for an ankle sprain.
Huh.
“Hey, do you know if she teaches nursing classes?” Hitoshi asks Midoriya. “Like, as an elective.”
“You want to spend more time with Recovery Girl?” Midoriya asks, horrified. “I mean. Not that I don’t respect—”
“Too late, troublemaker,” Recovery Girl snaps, smacking him with her cane. “Shoo! Or I’m accepting Inko’s dinner invitation!”
Midoriya runs away like there’s a hellhound nipping at his heels, but Hitoshi draws into himself. Inko. Why would Midoriya Inko invite Recovery Girl to dinner? That seems strange between a mother and the school nurse, but it’s not like Hitoshi knows anything about normal parents.
Recovery Girl sighs, and shakes her head. “That one’s coming out to be just like All Might.”
“Why did you say All Might like pain in my ass?” Hitoshi smacks a hand to his mouth. “Uh—shit—I mean. He’s the greatest hero of all time!”
“And the greatest pain in my ass of all time.” Flintstone eyes assess Hitoshi. “Hm. You’re Mic’s new kid, right? Who’s trying to be a hero.”
“Will be. Not trying to be. ”
“Well, try not to be too good at it. All the great heroes die,” she murmurs, and then harrumphs, “Or I don’t like ‘em! And all heroes wanna stay on Recovery Girl’s good side…”
Hitoshi sits back, blinking up at the ceiling. His knee quietly aches. “Am I on your good side?”
“Yes,” she says. “It’s not as hard as Midoriya makes it out to be.”
Hitoshi feels a small burst of satisfaction at being better than Midoriya in some way. Yamada wouldn’t like that— antisocial behavior—but if he likes the kid so much, he can go foster Midoriya instead.
“Come back to class when you’re feeling better,” Recovery Girl says. “Make sure to use the sign-out sheet as you go.”
“Alright.”
A few more students trickle in, and then trickle out. After a couple of minutes, the bell rings, announcing the start of the next period. Art, for Hitoshi. His knee has mostly stopped aching, but he still hasn’t done the homework.
He sits back and weighs his options. Midnight and his foster guardians are friends, so she’d immediately rat on him. Hitoshi’s only staying with them on the condition that he goes to UA, and missing his first homework assignment doesn’t give him a great outlook. Not to mention the possible damage to their reputations. Hitoshi’s ruined quite a few reputations, including his own, and the aftermath can be seriously ugly.
And the idea of humiliating himself in front of Midoriya and Yaoyorozu… Better to skip today’s lesson entirely, and make up for it in the next few days. Hitoshi’s always been a quick learner.
“I need to supervise some second-year rescue training,” Recovery Girl says. “You should return to class now.”
“But my knee hurts,” Hitoshi says. It’s not that much of a lie, more of an exaggeration.
“Mhm.” She raises her eyebrows, unmoved. “Do you have a test today?”
“No. Who has a test on the second day of school?”
“Aizawa’s class had one yesterday,” she replies. “And I believe Vlad’s is having theirs today.”
“Well, I’m not a hero student,” Hitoshi retorts coolly.
“Then what is it? Are you being bullied?”
“No! I’m not being bullied!” he snaps, heat rushing up his neck. “Why would you think that?!”
“Alright, alright,” Recovery Girl relents, turning away.
“My knee really does hurt!” It doesn’t.
She purses her lips, and then tells him, “You don’t get help if you don’t ask for it, kid.”
Hitoshi doesn’t say anything more. It’s too late to take the lie back. At least Recovery Girl doesn’t seem like the gossiping type…
She leaves him alone there, dimming the lights. Hitoshi breaks halfway through the period and leaves—but, unwilling to show up in the middle of art class, fakes his sign-out time so it’s right when lunch starts. It’s not like Recovery Girl will know the difference.
Hitoshi dashes over to the library, catching a nap through the rest of the class period and the entirety of lunch hour.
The school day after that goes by without incident, until Hitoshi finds himself once again standing awkwardly outside of the faculty lounge.
Midnight opens the door when he knocks. “Hey, missed you today,” she says, smirking.
“Yeah,” he says, scratching his neck, “I kinda had to go to the infirmary. Hit my knee in the rush from the… reporter… thing. Nothing serious.”
“Uh-huh,” she replies, smirk getting bigger. “If it’s nothing serious, then you wouldn’t mind giving me the homework that was due today.”
Shit.
“You’re giving him an extension,” Aizawa cuts in, looming over the other hero’s shoulder.
Unfazed, Midnight twists around until they are nose-to-nose. “And why should I do that? Wouldn’t that be—” she gasps in mock offense, “—favoritism?”
“Not favoritism. He had a migraine yesterday.”
“Okay,” says Midnight. “Favoritism, just this once.”
“It’s not—”
Hitoshi slips around the two bickering pro-heroes and into the room itself. Yamada beckons him over, leaning against a counter and swirling a mug of tea.
“Hey there, Mr. CPR certified,” he says.
“Wh—how did you – who told you about that?!” Hitoshi stammers. God, that moment was so embarrassing.
“Me and RG are great friends, don’tcha know? We talk all the time.” To be fair, Yamada talks with everyone all the time.
“Oh,” says Hitoshi lamely. He’s only half-aware of what’s coming out of his mouth, busy racking his brains for a way out of this situation.
“She was telling me about this morning—” Yamada continues, but Hitoshi’s stopped paying attention.
He needs a distraction. Maybe he could snitch to Aizawa that Yamada hasn’t been practicing his hand-to-hand. If Hitoshi’s lucky, it could even result in an impromptu spar… No, that’s too extreme.
Yamada puts both his hands on Hitoshi’s shoulders. Oh, he’s still talking.
“Shinsou,” he says, as the conclusion of what was probably a super inspiring speech or whatever. “Are you being bullied?”
“Yamada hasn’t been practicing his hand-to-hand!” Hitoshi shouts out desperately. “At all!”
Aizawa materializes. “What.”
Hitoshi turns around and runs out of the room, dodging Midnight to flee across the school. His footsteps ring far too loud, but he can’t risk turning back to see if either of his guardians are coming after him. Hitoshi puts on speed, heading to the only place where he knows nobody will be. He skids into the classroom, and carefully closes the door behind him.
“Uh-h-h…” says Yaoyorozu.
“Why are you here?” Hitoshi pants. After yesterday, he figured the homework club must’ve moved locations or something. He didn’t think that the same girl would show up here again.
“Because I have a right to be. I’m not going to let you intimidate me,” she replies, matter-of-factly. Then her cheeks pink, and she adds, “Also, um, if this is some kind of playground, pulling-my-pigtails thing, you should know that I am. Um. A lesbian.”
“Oh no, I’m not – I don’t even know if I like girls,” says Hitoshi, and then, realizing that’s TMI, tries to fix it by saying, “Uh, that’s, it’s not. Well, I mean.” He scrambles desperately for a change of subject. “I saw two pro-heroes fight each other. Just now.” That’s a good distraction, right? And technically true. Although Hitoshi should probably make up a lie about Mt. Lady or something, if Yaoyorozu has follow-up questions.
Yaoyorozu’s brow furrows, and then her eyes go wide in realization. “Pro-heroes—two of the teachers?”
Dammit. They’re in school, of course the pro-heroes would be teachers. This girl’s way too quick on the uptake.
The door slams open, revealing Aizawa. Ah, time to die.
“Shinsou, come with me.”
Yaoyorozu’s eyes go even wider, and her hand flies up to her mouth. “Aizawa-sensei?”
Hitoshi nods, slow and purposeful. Yaoyorozu’s hands flutter to and fro, eventually resolving to grip her calculator like she’s trying to strangle it. Hitoshi vaguely wonders if she might faint. It’s okay if you’re sitting down, right?
“Shinsou. Now.”
Aizawa drags Hitoshi over back to the office, and makes him stay outside while he “cleans up.” Hitoshi is distracted from whatever that might mean by Yamada showing up and mentioning that he was about to call Hitoshi via the PA system (it’s unclear whether he means the literal school PA system, or just his voice). Some hairs are splitting from his gelled monstrosity of a ‘do, but far fewer than Hitoshi would expect. His grin is unfriendly and blinding.
“Okay, you can come in now,” Aizawa says, ushering both of them into the office that looks—just about normal. There’s a crack in the window that Yamada slides over to cover with his banana hair.
Hitoshi shrinks as he walks through the door. Today was not a day of good decisions.
“Shinsou, that was not the way you should’ve told me that Hizashi has been slacking,” Aizawa says.
“—But, we’re more concerned about our convo before the incident, alright?” Yamada swivels the focus.
“I’m not being bullied, Jesus,” Hitoshi says. “It’s literally fine.”
“If everything’s so fine, then why did you act so evasive when I asked?” Yamada leans in, his costume a little too big and voice a little too loud in the small space.
“It’s just embarrassing for you to ask me that,” Hitoshi admits. “Like, I can protect myself. I’m not a wimp.”
“People who get bullied aren’t wimps,” Aizawa cuts in sharply. “They’re just easy targets. Foreigners, disabled people, or those with… undesirable quirks.”
“I know what my quirk is.” He isn’t stupid.
Aizawa narrows his eyes. Hitoshi narrows his eyes back. They stare each other down, until finally Yamada announces, “All right, clearly this is going nowhere. If there’s no crisis going on, then we can just leave this here for now. Sound good?”
They both grumble assent.
“Great!” Yamada’s grin gets a notch more aggressive as he ushers them out of the office and into the lounge again. Hitoshi’s not the only one unhappy with this turn of events. “But let’s keep me and Sho’s little kerfuffle on the DL. Don’t want my little listeners getting the wrong idea.”
“Uh,” Hitoshi winces. “It… might be too late for that.”
“A student knows already?” Yamada exclaims, eyebrows jumping up to his hairline. “Jesus, you kids have some speed…” Hitoshi frowns—it’s not like he did it on purpose,
“Missing the good ol’ days, Yamada?” Midnight calls out from the couch.
“Never!” Yamada strikes a flamboyant pose, ceasing all pretenses of being a reasonable person. “You know I’m all about the now, baby!” Then he drops over the back of the couch, stage-whispering, “But I’ll admit the gossip was juiciest when we were in high school.”
“That’s because children lie,” says Aizawa.
“I know that, I used to make stuff up all the time!” Yamada leaps back up and elbows Hitoshi forcefully in the side with one of his dagger-like elbows.
“Okay, I get it,” Hitoshi wheezes. Yamada got him right in the lung.
Yamada doesn’t mind him. “Wanna keep things professional, right Eraser?”
“It’s not that unprofessional.”
“Sho,” Yamada groans. He looks at Aizawa, decides he’s a lost cause, and diverts his attention (bright, overwhelming attention) to Hitoshi. “Look, kid—the students copy us, see? If there’s a conflict, or even if they think there’s a conflict, between teachers, the atmosphere gets real uncool real fast.” He shakes his head and mutters, almost to himself, “Teenagers will turn on each other in the blink of an eye.”
“Teenagers do suck,” Hitoshi begrudgingly agrees. He should know—he’s one of them.
“Aw, but you’re cute sometimes!” Yamada reaches out to pinch his cheeks, but he dodges. “That’s why we teachers have to be careful, as role models to our volatile young students. It’s like how Eraser and Vlad’s attitudes only make their class rivalry worse.”
“It’s good motivation,” Aizawa mutters.
Yamada ignores him, saying, “Think, this could start a rumor that Eraserhead can’t control his aggressive impulses.” Aizawa sits up, suddenly attentive. “Oh, now you care, huh?”
“What if they say you can’t control yourself?” Aizawa argues.
“I’m Present Mic.”
Silence. Then, “It’s fine, I’m sure that Yaoyorozu is discreet,” Aizawa tries.
“Discreet?!” Midnight gasps in delight. “Oh my. Don’t tell me you two—”
“It’s not—”
“We didn’t—”
It takes way longer than necessary to clear up the misunderstanding, mostly because Midnight was misunderstanding them on purpose. She wouldn’t have the same reaction if his foster guardians did something that inappropriate. Hitoshi hopes.
Aizawa says to Hitoshi and Yamada, “The train’s leaving in five minutes. We should go now.”
“I still have some work to take care of,” Yamada says apologetically.
“That’s fine, Shinsou and I can just go to my place,” Aizawa replies.
“Oh, so you can be late again?” he snarks.
“It was one time,” Aizawa argues. “I’ll plan it out better next time.”
“Yeah, and you can plan it out, at my place.”
Aizawa loses that argument. He grunts something, and then motions for Hitoshi to follow him. He leads the teen to one of UA’s state-of-the-art gyms, where they can train. Hitoshi can’t help the thrill that runs through him—this is just like a real hero student.
Aizawa sends him onto the gymnastics equipment. Hitoshi spends an unreasonable amount of time flailing around—Aizawa watches with the usual glint of sadism in his eye. It’s nice to move, though, and with a start Hitoshi realizes he’s become the kind of person who likes to exercise.
They take the train back to Yamada’s apartment. Yamada, bright and no longer with his ridiculous hairdo, says hello to what seems like an ever-increasing number of people. A good number of them greet Hitoshi as well, by name even. Aizawa isn’t spoken to, only offered food, which he accepts with more grace than Hitoshi thought he was capable of. Food must be the best way to a grumpy underground hero’s heart.
Hitoshi does his homework in Yamada’s guest room, listening to screamo on taped-together earbuds.
He falls asleep the moment his head hits the pillow, exhausted from the plus ultra workout Aizawa put him through at UA’s gym. Yamada wakes him up in the morning, grin a little too bright for how early it is.
They eat breakfast, bicker, and eventually pile into the farcical spectacle known as the UA faculty carpool.
“Excited for your third day of school, young man?” Yagi asks.
“Not really,” he replies, too tired to even pretend.
Yagi laughs, which means Hitoshi’s social faux pas must’ve been on the endearing side. “I can’t say I’m surprised. You have some quite impressive eye bags there, if you don’t mind me saying.” He pauses, and then adds, “If you have trouble sleeping, I do have some medicine that I’ve found quite helpful—”
“Yagi, do I look like the kind of man who doesn’t have sleeping pills?” Aizawa interrupts.
“It was just an offer,” Yagi tries to smooth it over. Aizawa gives him a dirty look, which he then transfers to Hitoshi, as if to call him a traitor. Hitoshi rolls his eyes.
There are no break-ins or injuries that morning as Hitoshi goes through the increasingly-familiar routine of school. He turns in yesterday’s homework to Midnight with only a slightly red face, avoids eye contact with most people but especially the two hero students he ran into yesterday.
Unfortunately, Yaoyorozu has other ideas. The moment the bell rings, she heads over to Hitoshi’s desk. He packs up and flees with the ease of years of experience. There’s only one place he’ll be safe from a stubborn goody-two-shoes like Yaoyorozu: the teacher.
Unfortunately, said teacher is Midnight. Instead of standing there and talking to him like a normal person, she sweeps out of the classroom, beckoning him along with a crooked finger. Hitoshi can feel the heat of Yaoyorozu’s gaze on his back, so he hurries after.
“I have cafeteria duty today,” Midnight explains. “Ask me your question on the way, hm-m?”
This is bad. Hitoshi can’t sneak off to the library like he usually does—the lunch from home excuse won’t hold up to the woman who Yamada tells every single detail of his life to, in nightly phone calls. Then Mr. and Mr. “The-Correct-Diet-Is-Vital-For-A-Hero-Student” will pounce on him. And it’s not like Hitoshi could explain that it’s for self-defense against the teenage hordes. They choose to hang out with teenagers all the time.
“Spit it out, kid,” Midnight says.
“How can I change electives?” Hitoshi tries to mimic her cutting nonchalance.
“You fill out a form, talk to your counselor, and see if it’ll fit into your schedule,” she replies, the corner of her mouth twitching up. “But I suggest you keep in mind that UA has no slack-off classes.”
“I’m not looking to slack off,” Hitoshi denies. He’s just as dedicated as everybody else.
“Yuh-huh,” Midnight agrees condescendingly. “Hey, here it is—why don’t you run off to Lunch Rush, hm-m? Little boys need their vegetables.”
Hitoshi storms off to the lunch line, so eager to leave the conversation that he forgot totally about avoiding the cafeteria in the first place. Midnight just… unsettles him.
He takes his noodles from Lunch Rush, and settles in to eat them by an empty table in the corner. He studiously avoids looking at Midnight, who’s drawing half the room’s gaze anyway.
Unfortunately, Hitoshi’s lunch doesn’t stay peaceful. In the middle of slurping up a noodle, a vaguely familiar pink girl slams her hands down on his table. She’s flanked by Midoriya, who’s writing something in a notebook, and Yaoyorozu, who doesn’t make eye contact with him.
Oh, rich girl doesn’t want people to think they’re friends. She’s very lucky that Hitoshi’s repulsion to the idea outweighs his desire to fuck with her.
“Hi, I’m Ashido Mina from class 1-A!” she says, all smiles. She gestures to her right, saying, “This is Midoriya, he’s here to… take notes?”
“Think of me as your gossip intern!” the boy exclaims.
“You’re adorable,” Ashido tells him, and then points to her left. “This is our vice prez, she’s here to supervise.”
Yaoyorozu smiles uncomfortably. “Hello.”
“Now!” Ashido slams her hands on the table. Again. Face incredibly serious, she says, “I heard that you saw Aizawa-sensei fighting another teacher. Who was it? Why do they hate each other? Who was winning?”
“They don’t hate each other,” Hitoshi denies. Yamada said it was important that the UA faculty present a united front.
“Ah. Enemies-to-lovers, huh?” Ashido nods sagely. “I see.”
“I don’t think you do,” says Hitoshi.
Yaoyorozu sighs. “This is why I came along—Mina, you can’t just say stuff like that.”
“Right, you should have a segue into gossip. Can you give an example of what that would look like?” Midoriya asks, pencil poised to note her response.
She turns red. “Well, I mean. I’m not exactly experienced at this either, you know!”
It’s at this point Hitoshi has a realization: the only other person who knows about the incident is Yaoyorozu. She must’ve purposefully passed it along to Ashido, and then followed along pretending to be good and proper, when she actually just wanted to hear more. You know, instead of asking him herself.
“I think you’re plenty experienced, Yaoyorozu,” says Hitoshi, slow and distinct.
She smiles in the way that well-mannered people do when they’re displeased. Hitoshi smiles right back, the gleeful, malicious grin he copied from Aizawa.
“Record scratch, hold on—you two know each other?” Ashido says. “Aw, I feel bad about forcing the juicy deets out of Yaomomo, now.” Forcing…? “Were you trying to protect your friend?”
“We’re not friends,” they reply in unison. Okay, this is getting embarrassing.
Ashido gasps. “More than friends?!”
Hitoshi’s about to say that Yaoyorozu doesn’t like guys, but pauses—is she even out to her class? He doesn’t want to out someone on the basis of petty dislike. He’ll go far for petty dislike, but not that far.
“Actually, Ashido… that’s not possible,” Yaoyorozu says slowly, holding her chin high. “Because. I’m a lesbian.”
“O-M-G, I shouldn’t have assumed! I’m so sorry, Yaomomo!” Ashido throws her arms around Yaoyorozu’s torso, since she’s too short to reach the shoulders, and squeezes. Yaoyorozu pats her on the back awkwardly, range of motion limited to her forearms, but her face is a pleased kind of embarrassed.
Furiously writing, Midoriya leans over to Hitoshi and asks, “Would you say this is an appropriate reaction to a friend coming out to you?”
“Stop taking notes on this.”
“Okay.” Midoriya complies immediately, if a little poutily. Months of being Aizawa’s intern must have conditioned him.
After some more hugging and a little crying that Hitoshi respectfully ignores, Ashido says, “Okay, back to business! I just need a li’l information from you. Capisce?”
“Let’s just get this over with,” Hitoshi reluctantly agrees.
“Sweet!” Ashido’s face brightens into something that’s a little hard to look at. “Who was he with? How many clothes were they wearing? And if you had to pick a song to describe their relationship, what would it be? No Frank Sinatra.”
“Why… a song?” he asks.
“Well, you see, I’ve already made a bunch of fan-cams of Aizawa-sensei—”
“Wait, wait, what’s a fan-cam?”
“Just, like, a fan video. Every year I pick a teacher and record them a bunch, just doing teacher stuff,” Ashido explains calmly, like any of the words that just came out of her mouth make any sense. “This year I picked Aizawa-sensei ‘cause he’s a cryptid and I wanted a challenge.”
“He’s confiscated her phone every day since school started,” Yaoyorozu adds. “And occasionally also the phones of her enablers.”
“My phone is a sacrifice I choose to make for art.”
“As well as other people’s phones,” Midoriya chimes in helpfully.
“Look, this doesn’t matter,” Ashido dismisses. “Besides, school rules say you gotta give it back by the end of the day. That’s what the principal said, anyway.” Of course Nedzu is involved with this. “He might’ve made it up T-B-H, but he says he likes my initiative, and that as long as I don’t post it anywhere it’s okay.”
“See? It’s ethical,” mutters Midoriya, eyes wild and pencil scratching at light speed on the paper.
“Sounds like you’re trying to convince yourself,” says Hitoshi, lightly amused. Ah, Midoriya. Always a breath of fresh air.
“Anyway, point is, I gotta do something with all my footage that I worked so hard for. This is the perfect opportunity! I’m gonna make an edit of Aizawa-sensei and his one true love,” Ashido concludes her insane plan. “With special effects and a song. Which is why I asked for your personal song choice for them, although I make no guarantees about the final product.”
“Okay, sure,” says Hitoshi, who’s not being paid enough to care, “but why, exactly, are you doing this?”
Ashido holds up her index finger. “First, because I love love.” A second finger. “Also for blackmail.” Hitoshi has a suspicion as to who suggested that.
A blur of black catches Hitoshi’s eye. “Oh, speak of the devil. Aizawa’s coming right this way.”
Stalking is a better word for it. A silence hushes the cafeteria as Eraserhead, quirk activated and (Hitoshi suspects) extremely embarrassed, stares down the four students in the corner.
Ashido whips out her phone to record him, but his scarf unfurls in record speed to smack it to the ground. She makes a wounded noise.
“That’ll be really good footage. An action shot, you know?” Midoriya says to her, trying to cheer her up.
They don’t see if it works, because then the scarf wraps Ashido up, reaching all the way to her nose. She tries frantically to communicate with her eyes, but tragically nobody understands.
Midoriya leans into Hitoshi’s personal space and whispers, “It’s Mic, isn’t it?”
“Midoriya,” says Aizawa. “Why don’t we see what’s in that notebook of yours?”
“Godspeed,” Midoriya murmurs to Hitoshi. Then, resigned to his fate, takes some of the scarf and wraps his arms up in it.
“Shinsou, we’ll have words later,” says Aizawa, ignoring Hitoshi’s complaint that he didn’t do anything. “Yaoyorozu… discretion is the better part of valor. Try and avoid causing scenes like this in the future.”
She nods, face bright red.
Aizawa sweeps out of the cafeteria, his prey hurrying along behind him. Midoriya stares very intently at Ashido’s frantic eye motions, and then brings out his phone. However, before he can start recording, Aizawa snatches it away.
“Wow,” says Hitoshi.
“I apologize that you had to see us so undignified,” Yaoyorozu says, straight-backed and straight-laced. “I assure you that class 1-A normally acts with far more grace.”
“Boo. I almost thought you were interesting for a second there.”
Yaoyorozu flushes red, closes her mouth, and trots back to the table she came from. A purple-haired girl with long ears places a careful hand on her arm, and then gives Hitoshi a dirty look.
Whatever.
After school ends, Hitoshi finds himself with the unenviable task of finding something to occupy himself with while his guardians do teacher stuff. There are clubs he can join (he checked, and the homework club did move classrooms from last year), but the idea of human interaction is not appealing right now. Or ever.
Besides, he’s not letting Yaoyorozu out-stubborn him. Hitoshi is going to sit in the old homework club room until she gives up.
They sit in silence, occasionally glancing at each other, then quickly away if eye contact is made. It’s possibly the most awkward thing Hitoshi has ever been a part of, but he refuses to be the one who chickens out.
That’s why, when Midoriya bursts into the room slightly breathless, Hitoshi’s actually glad. He’ll take any distraction at this point.
“Hi Shinsou? I got your location from your phone, you should really disable that feature by the way, but just so you know I gave your number to Mina.” His expression, with those big green eyes and fluffy hair, is almost pitiful enough for Hitoshi to forgive him.
“Seriously?”
“I’m sorry, she’s just really hard to say no to!”
“There’s no need to be rude.” Yaoyorozu goes as far as to step between Hitoshi and Midoriya, which is a little ridiculous considering that Midoriya spent months being Aizawa’s intern. Even existing in the same space as Aizawa means growing a thick skin.
“Right, sorry I forgot to greet you, Yaoyorozu, that was rude,” the confused boy apologizes again.
She whirls around, and takes a few steps back. “No, that wasn’t—I meant he didn’t have to be rude to you. Mina is really hard to say no to! For anyone!”
Hitoshi considers arguing, but remembers her interrogation at lunch. Her crazed energy was hard to counter. Hitoshi might have folded, had Aizawa not stepped in.
But it’s not like Yaoyorozu knows that.
“What’s so hard about it?” he asks lazily, tipping his head and widening his eyes in a way he knows the girl will hate.
But instead of giving him a look of frustration, Yaoyorozu shoots a sharp, disdainful glance. It… cuts deeper than Hitoshi expects.
“That’s good,” Midoriya says with a sigh of relief. “Look, you need to tell Mina she’s wrong about the enemies-to-lovers thing. She has some serious misconceptions about Aizawa-sensei and,” Midoriya visibly steels himself, “Mr. Yagi.”
A grin spreads on Hitoshi’s face. This is way funnier than anything he could have anticipated.
“Why should I?” Hitoshi says, thoroughly amused, at the same time that Yaoyorozu says, “Are we sure they’re misconceptions?”
“You’ve been listening to her, haven’t you?!” Yaoyorozu says nothing to deny these allegations. “I wouldn’t lie about that!”
“I’m not saying you’re lying, but you’re very close to the situation—”
Hitoshi is distracted by a buzz in his pocket. A text? He never gets texts. Yamada prefers calling, because messages can’t properly get his obnoxiousness across, and Aizawa just hunts Hitoshi down by smell or something.
Unknown Number
hiiiii 👋 is mina 💖💞💘
fyi i figured it out. its that old skinny blond guy right???
i saw him & aizawa sensei having a HEATED 🥵 discussion the other day
plus mido went RED af when i asked him abt it and yk that boy knows everything
E 👏 VE 👏 RY 👏 THING 👏
soz abt harassing u @ lunch btw
It takes Hitoshi a minute or so to partially decode the message. This must officially be a rumor, now. Better than the teachers having a feud. Actually, he bets Yamada would get a kick out of this one.
It’s getting around the time to leave anyway. Easily slipping by Midoriya and Yaoyorozu, who are deep in discussion, Hitoshi makes his way over to the teachers’ lounge. There he finds Midnight giving condescending pats on the back to Aizawa, pausing occasionally to snicker behind her hand.
“Hey there troublemaker!” she says brightly.
“Don’t encourage him,” Aizawa grumbles. “Now I have to deal with Ashido, too…”
“I haven’t known the kid for that long, but I doubt she’d believe we hate each other,” Yamada says. “She’s a positive thinker, y’know?”
“He’s right. Ashido doesn’t think any of the teachers hate each other.” Hitoshi pauses for dramatic effect, and then says, “She just thinks Aizawa’s in love with Yagi.”
Yamada wheezes, while Midnight gets a thoughtful look on her face. Aizawa turns stiff as a board, hands gripping the couch so tightly that his knuckles turn white.
He growls out, “Which. Yagi.”
Hitoshi blinks. “Uh…”
“Ha-ha, don’t you remember that Shinsou doesn’t know the, uh, bigger Yagi?” Yamada says, nudging Aizawa’s side for some reason.
The tension releases out of Aizawa with a great sigh. “Okay. Not great, but… fine. Fine.”
“I thought you hated him,” says Hitoshi, flabbergasted. Does Aizawa like… like Yagi? Is that what all the arguing is about?
“Well,” Midnight interjects, “Shouta does like blondes.”
Her comment practically sends Yamada into hysterics. He’s howling, clutching at his stomach, and Aizawa takes the opportunity to shove him off the couch. He continues laughing on the floor.
Yamada’s laugh is just loud enough to be grating, but the expression on his face is nicer than the wrinkled, heavy concern he had talking about conflicts between teachers.
You
Aizawa likes blondes.
Ashido Mina
🤩
yagizawa 5ever!!!!!!!!!
You
Yagizawa 5ever.
“Are you texting Ashido right now?” Aizawa asks with a tone of despair.
“They’re friends!” Yamada cheerfully informs him, based on absolutely no evidence.
“Hey, what about Yaoyorozu? She’s nice and quiet,” Aizawa tries to argue. “You can make friends with her.”
“I don’t like Yaoyorozu.”
A deep, heavy sigh. “Just—not Ashido. Please.”
“Too late,” says Hitoshi. “I’m gonna ask her to send me her fan-cams.”
“I don’t know what that means.” Aizawa gives him a good glare, and then adds, “But still don’t do it.”
“Send them to me too,” says Yamada, who also definitely doesn’t know what that means.
“Don’t encourage her,” says Aizawa. “I need to take my class on a field trip tomorrow, and Ashido makes enough trouble without you riling her up.”
“I’m sure you’ll survive,” Yamada says, and laughs. Hitoshi laughs too.
They get back to Yamada’s apartment earlier than the day before, since both his guardians have a lot of work to do. It’s nice, but means Hitoshi doesn’t get training time with Aizawa. They order takeout (from a regular restaurant, not one of Yamada’s monstrosities).
“Are you sure we can’t train?” Hitoshi asks again, hating how desperate he sounds. Aizawa already sent him on a couple laps ‘round the neighborhood, but it just pumped him up more.
“Everyone needs rest days,” Aizawa says firmly. “We can do something tomorrow. Depending on how long it takes 1-A to complete their rescue training, there might even be a window of time when the USJ is free. I’ll see if we can use it then.”
“Right. Cool. Yeah,” Hitoshi agrees.
He goes to bed feeling oddly okay. Maybe he’s finally getting used to this.